


dismiss the invisible (by giving it shape)

by bucketfulloffandom



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of other skaters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Warnings May Change, as in character death of Said Other Skaters, because. u know. zombies, how do you fall in love while the world’s ending, sorry - Freeform, surprising amount of banter?, that’s a good question, this is equal amounts suffering and softness i think, this is kind of sort of really all over the place, working title: zambonis.doc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-05 12:08:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14043981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketfulloffandom/pseuds/bucketfulloffandom
Summary: Shoma adapts.It’s rough—really fucking rough—but he’s made it this far, and it’d all sort of feel like a waste if he just gave it up now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i said “who’s gonna be the first person to write zombie apocalypse au in the fs rpf tag on ao3” and no one stepped up so i did. stepped up, i mean. and wrote this
> 
> TBH !! there’s still quite a bit to go but I’ve been working on this at a snail’s pace for like more than a week and got impatient with myself so I’m posting the first ~2k or so now!! and hopefully that will motivate me to get the rest done sooner. neat
> 
> as always, kudos+comments are greatly appreciated!! and in this case will probably help me finish this shit. golly

Shoma adapts.

It’s rough—really fucking rough—but he’s made it this far, and it’d all sort of feel like a waste if he just gave it up now.

They’re a small group: Shoma, Yuzuru, Nathan, Maia, and Boyang. The new Mother Nature had picked away the rest of them, brutal in her selection.

(Shoma can’t sleep near Maia anymore. The way she sobs her brother’s name when the night terrors strike is just too much.)

So, it’s a great mercy that Yuzuru is still here. Shoma knows this, and takes care to appreciate it every moment he can. He doesn’t protest like he used to when Yuzuru wraps his arms around his shoulders, doesn’t wriggle away like he would before. Sometimes he’ll initiate contact himself, something that was a true once-in-a-blue-moon rarity prior to their world falling apart. Yuzuru is always eagerly receptive; he leans into Shoma’s touch like a cat, eyes half-shut.

Nathan and Boyang, like Maia, are less fortunate. Shoma doesn’t know as much about who they used to be, only that Nathan played guitar and Boyang liked to recreate superhero movie scenes in his bedroom, but he knows that they’ve lost more people than they ever imagined they could. They all have.

(Trivial hobbies are a luxury no one can afford anymore. Shoma misses his phone games as much as Nathan misses his sneaker collection.)

It’s raining when Shoma wakes up one morning, the droplets an insistent pitter-patter against the canvas of the tent. The spot next to him is vacant, meaning that Yuzuru must already have risen for the day. Shoma sits up, stretches the best he can in the tight space, and peeks out, face scrunched up at the immediate wetness.

Boyang is scurrying around their makeshift camp, stretching the tarp over their spare firewood to try to keep it from getting any more soaked than it already has been. Maia is poking with the tire iron she uses as a weapon at the fire, already shielded from the rain.

The seeping moisture that quickly spreads down Shoma’s back as he emerges from his tent is unpleasant, but he’s learned to live with it. He joins Nathan under the meager shelter of the twisted old tree they’ve set up around, envious of the other’s sweatshirt. Shoma’s windbreaker lacks a hood, and he now probably has to cope with water-heavy hair for the rest of the day. Nathan dips his head in greeting before returning to carefully sharpening his Swiss Army knife.

Yuzuru comes into view, then, making brisk rounds about the camp, patrolling. He looks even thinner and frailer than he normally does, slicked with rain and trembling just the slightest bit from the chill as he glances in Shoma’s direction and waves. Shoma waves back.

“We should probably move soon,” Nathan remarks without looking up. Shoma glances at him, brows furrowed. “I’m worried about that horde down south. They could move up this way any day now.”

“Maybe,” Shoma says. Anything is a possibility. “I’ll talk to Yuzuru about it.”

“You do that.” Nathan runs his finger delicately across the blade of his knife. “Maia’s cool with it, and Boyang’s even antsier than I am, so we’re all good to go if Yuzuru is.”

Shoma questions in the back of his head when Yuzuru became the person with the final say around here, but he can’t bring himself to complain about it. As long as it’s not him, he can’t complain.

 

  
Yuzuru sits close to him at breakfast (or, the meager rations they call breakfast). Their thighs are pressed together, elbows bumping as Yuzuru shovels canned peaches into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in months. Shoma chews on his own syrupy fruit, noting the way Yuzuru’s cheekbones jut out and wondering if his own round face has given way to similar sharpness yet.

“What say we pack up after we finish eating and keep heading north?” Nathan asks through a mouthful of beans. Maia slots him a sideways look. Boyang giggles. “What?”

“You eat like a pig,” Maia scolds. Boyang’s giggles increase.

“That’s not true at all!” Nathan all but swallows whole the rest of the food in his mouth before saying, “I am a civilized gentleman, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, relative to the swarms of undead cannibals maybe,” Maia snorts. “Still a pig.”

“Better a pig than a zombie,” Nathan points out with a grin. Maia just rolls her eyes.

Next to Shoma, Yuzuru’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter. Shoma sends his silent thanks to the two Americans for giving Yuzuru this moment of joy. Even for all his efforts, Yuzuru simply doesn’t smile as much as he used to. Not that Shoma blames him.

(It’s very difficult to keep smiling when you’ve had to put a cleaver through one of your best friends’ skull.)

“Really though, are we all agreed? If we get going soon, we can reach the next city before sunset and hopefully get a roof over our heads for the night.” Nathan’s gaze sweeps over the group. No one objects.

So they break camp, falling easily into routine. Nathan takes inventory of the food and supplies while Boyang puts out the fire and Maia keeps watch. Shoma takes down the tents with Yuzuru, rolling up bedrolls and folding canvas, brushing hands all the while.

By the time they’ve finished, the rain has let up, leaving a gray sky with stripes of blue breaking through where the rain clouds have drifted apart.

“Finally! The sun!” Boyang stretches upwards, his shirt riding up as he reaches for the sky. Nathan tosses him his backpack, laughing when Boyang yelps and just barely manages to catch it.

“It’s nice and all, but it also means less cover for us as we’re traveling,” Maia points out. “The rain drowns out our noises and makes it harder for them to see us.”

Boyang wrinkles his nose, but he can’t argue that logic.

“We’ll take what we can get,” Yuzuru says. He adjusts the straps of his pack, looks once around the team. “Good to go?” The question seems more directed at Shoma in particular than the group in general, and Shoma startles a little bit.

“Yeah- anytime,” he blurts.

Yuzuru smiles in that way of his that makes his eyes crinkle up. “Let’s do it, then.”

They file off in the direction of the distant skyline in the north; Yuzuru takes the lead with Shoma close behind, followed by Maia and Boyang with Nathan bringing up the rear, grumbling about being pigeonholed into the back. They walk in relative quiet for about two minutes before Boyang starts to chatter.

Nathan seems less than thrilled, judging from his expression when Shoma glances behind him, but Shoma is glad for the talkative Chinese boy. Silence is safety, practically, but dangerous for his thoughts. Only when it’s silent does Shoma start thinking about his old life, and his old what-ifs—and that’s on top of the many, many disaster scenarios he’s imagined for this ragtag group.

But as it is, Boyang is opining on the Star Wars prequels, and Maia and Nathan are being easily swept up in the discourse, and the resulting buzz of conversation is just enough to keep Shoma’s thoughts at bay.

Yuzuru trudges ahead—though trudging isn’t really the right word for it. Even with a backpack full of supplies and a week of dust and dirt on him, he manages to seem graceful. He skims over the ground, head held high, swan-like. Shoma doesn’t know what to make of it.

That’s just how it tends to be nowadays.

 

 

Shoma wakes to shouting. Yuzuru is already scrambling out his bedroll, reaching for his crowbar. Terror shakes the sleep from Shoma’s body in seconds, and he’s struggling out of his sleeping bag with knife in hand right behind Yuzuru.

There’s a loud _thwack_ noise, and Boyang yells, “Get the gun!”

Shoma’s gaze follows the noise, and horror seizes him.

Boyang’s straining against the door, shoulder shoved hard up against it in an effort to keep it shut. Maia raises her tire iron for another blow to the skull of the zombie wedged in the doorway, teeth grit.

“Get the gun!” Boyang repeats when Shoma simply stares. The snarling zombie looks jarringly familiar, even through the rotting, gray flesh, even though he _knows_ it’s not really him-

“I got it.” Yuzuru snatches the pistol up from where it’d been tucked neatly under Boyang’s bag, flicks the safety off and takes aim. Shoma has to stop himself from crying out _don’t_. Just because it _looks_ like Keiji-

He doesn’t look when Yuzuru pulls the trigger, but he winces anyway at the sound. _God_ , he will never be used to that.

“We have to go,” Maia hisses as soon as the zombie slumps to the floor. “Every undead thing within a mile of here is gonna be heading this way.” She looks up, past Shoma, and her eyes fill with concern. “Nathan?”

Shoma turns, realizing suddenly that he’d completely forgotten about him in the flurry. The American boy is plastered against the far wall, his curly hair even wilder than what has become normal, his expression frozen. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

(And considering where they are and the particular circumstances of this armageddon, that may just be the case.)

“Hey- are you okay?” Boyang brushes past Shoma, reaching out. Nathan flinches violently away. “What-”

“I’m sorry,” Nathan chokes out. He seems to have snapped out of whatever trance he was in, but is still visibly shaken. His entire body is one tense line as he moves, picking up his bat and shoving an unopened can of peas into his backpack. “I- let’s go.”

The rest of them trade worried looks that Shoma’s sure Nathan doesn’t miss, but they can’t afford to stay and figure it out. Yuzuru’s hand finds Shoma’s waist for the fleetest of moments as they pack up hastily, an unspoken affirmation that quells Shoma’s frantic heart rate if but for a moment.

Boyang leads the way this time, holding his baseball bat out in front of him almost as if its a dowsing rod, but for the undead instead of buried treasure. Yuzuru slots himself between Shoma and Nathan, the warmth of his too-slender frame at Shoma’s back comforting. They make their way out of the apartment complex and into the thin light of morning without any complications, but then Shoma sees what awaits them on the other side of the chain link fence.

“Oh dear god,” Nathan says quietly.

_Oh dear god_ is right.

“Go- go around the building,” Boyang hisses. “This way. _Carefully_.”

Shoma’s blood is icy with fear as they edge their away along the building as silently as they can; he keeps one eye trained on the ground in front of him and the other on the massive horde milling around just a few lengths away.

Shoma bumps into Maia. Boyang has stopped at the fence. It’s blocking their way around the building.

“ _Fuck_.” Boyang turns back towards the rest of the group. “Okay, we’ll just… climb it. We can climb this.”

Shoma grimaces. It’s either this or face the zombie horde behind them. At least the fence isn’t topped with barbed wire like the last time they were in a situation like this. _That_  had been a rough day.

Boyang lets Maia go first, boosting her over the fence before grabbing hold of the chain link and hoisting himself over. Yuzuru motions for Shoma to go ahead, so Shoma grits his teeth, reaches as high as he can for a hold and pulls up. He searches blindly with his feet for an extra boost and finds Yuzuru’s palms waiting for him; Yuzuru pushes up, Shoma reaches up and over and finally lands only a little clumsily on the other side. The look Yuzuru gives him through the fence is weirdly proud.

Of course, Yuzuru insists on going last. Nathan, and then Yuzuru, make it over without any further incident, but Shoma’s heart is still beating like a cornered rabbit in his chest as they recenter and move out, leaving the horde behind.

Before Shoma even quite realizes it, Yuzuru takes his hand in his own, lacing his long, slender fingers with Shoma’s shorter ones. Yuzuru’s hands used to be soft, but the end of modern human civilization, unsurprisingly, changed that. It’s still far more helpful than Shoma would ever have thought it would be.

“Breathe,” Yuzuru whispers to him. “We’re alright.”

So Shoma breathes—in, two, three, out, two, three—and tells himself, _we’re alright._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i call this one Chapter Not Nearly As Many Zombies As You Would Expect From A Zombie Apocalypse AU. meant for it to be longer but it's been a hot minute so here's this,

Shoma is fascinated by people’s ability to endure. The old couple hosting them has managed to not only survive the apocalypse this long, but also maintain their small farm, chicken coop, and single dairy cow. Such are the advantages of being isolated and self-sufficient.

Nathan is practically inhaling the glass of milk set in front of him, much to Maia’s amusement and Shoma’s mild horror. Boyang makes a great show of his milk mustache, only ceasing when the old man walks into the kitchen with that expression Shoma has not been able to read since they arrived last evening.

“Morning,” Yuzuru chirps. “Thank you again for letting us stay the night.”

At the sink, the old lady titters. “But of course! It’s the least we can do in these kinds of times. Right, honey?” Her husband grumbles what Shoma think is agreement. “Take your time and rest up. There’s a shower you’re all free to use.”

Boyang jumps to his feet, shouting, “Dibs!” He wolfs down the rest of his scrambled eggs and bolts.

Maia snorts. “Finally, maybe we can all stop stinking.” She looks towards the couple and smiles. “Thank you. Really.”

Shoma cups his mug of warm milk close to his chest and simply bathes in the warmth the fireplace gives off. And to think, just days ago he’d basically woken up to zombies trying to break down the door. He never thought he’d ever feel anything even close to this kind of security again, but he guesses small mercies do still exist after all.  


 

 

Nightfall finds the crew fresh, invigorated, and incredibly cozy, gathered around the hearth. Nathan, the last to shower, comes into the living room with a towel slung around his shoulders and his hair damp against his forehead. Shoma has the urge to giggle at the sight—he looks like a wet sheepdog, and unlike Shoma, Maia is not afraid to tell him as much.

“A _clean_ wet sheepdog,” Nathan responds. “It’s an important detail.”

“That’s fair,” Boyang says sagely. Maia sighs in feigned exasperation.

Yuzuru scoots over to make room for Nathan on the couch, sinking into the age-softened cushions as he melts against Shoma’s side. Shoma, on instinct, pushes gently back, his head tilting to rest on Yuzuru’s shoulder. On Yuzuru’s other side, Nathan shoots the two of them a look that is somehow both bemused and knowing before turning his attention to where Boyang has sprawled himself across the carpet, poking him with his foot until he yelps in protest. Shoma adds the laugh it draws out of Yuzuru to his mental catalogue.

Maia yawns loudly. “I’m turning in,” she declares, hauling herself to her feet. Frankly, she’s gorgeous, hair sleek and neatly braided. Shoma can’t imagine how pretty she must have been when showers were a regularly available resource. “Last chance for you guys to take back your generosity and take over the guest room, because I’m not budging once I get into that bed.” No one speaks up. “Awesome. Night, guys.”

“Night,” the rest of them chorus after her as she exits. Boyang clicks his tongue.

“We should have objected. I would love to sleep in a real bed,” he laments in a tone that is only half-joking. He tilts his head back to look at Nathan, adding, “We still taking the basement?” He groans when Nathan nods.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Yuzuru points out diplomatically. “It’s a nice parlor basement, not a secret murder room basement.”

“You get to sleep in here with the fireplace, shut up,” Boyang grumbles. Yuzuru chuckles at that.

“Maybe you guys can sleep in here too,” Shoma suggests quietly. “Like- like a slumber party.”

Nathan raises a brow. “Dude, do you not see yourself?” Shoma returns his gaze, lost. “You don’t want to have us in here, man. For our sakes. It may be the literal apocalypse, but there are still things I don’t ever need to see.”

Yuzuru makes a sort of aborted choking sound, and Shoma begins to understand what Nathan is implying. He can feel himself turning red at the thought. Boyang, unhelpful, laughs that loud, carrying laugh of his.

“I don’t- we- why would you-!” Shoma splutters. Nathan grins.

Thankfully, it’s at this moment that the old woman comes into the room, smiling sweetly and effectively preventing Nathan from making any other unsavory remarks. “Just wanted to tell you all good night” she says, “I’m going to bed now—don’t be afraid to wake me if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Yuzuru replies. “Thank you. Good night.” The old woman smiles at him especially before turning and shuffling back out.

Shoma looks to Nathan, but thank god, it seems like he’s dropped the previous topic. Shoma’s ears still burn a little anyways.

“This is weird for you guys too, right?” Nathan asks. “Feeling so safe, I mean.” The rest of them mumble agreement. Shoma thinks about the warm press of Yuzuru’s thigh against his and nods. Still poking at Boyang with his feet, Nathan says, “We’re so far from the city and zombies have basically no reason to wander out this far, it’s like it’s not even the zombie apocalypse.”

Boyang snickers. “Other than the fact that there’s no government, or TV, or Internet, or-”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Nathan cuts him off. He nudges him until Boyang, pliant, rolls over onto his stomach and deliberately faceplants in the carpet. “Smartass. They got a generator though, so hot showers and electric lights. I’m in heaven.”

Shoma raises his head off of Yuzuru’s shoulder to add, “Not for long if you keep taking half-hour long showers.” He turns to grin at Yuzuru when he snorts. Nathan huffs.

“It is nice, though,” Yuzuru says. “I could get used to it.”

 _Even though I can’t really_ , is the unspoken rest of that sentence, Shoma knows. It’s all well and good now, but there’s no way they can stay here indefinitely. They’ll just have to enjoy it while they can.

“The old man’s gonna teach me how to milk the cow tomorrow. I asked him and he said okay,” Boyang declares triumphantly, turning onto his back again. “Or at least, I think he said okay. Hopefully.”

“Good luck with that,” Nathan says in a grave tone. “Cows are chaotic creatures.”

An image comes to Shoma of Boyang being kicked in the gut by an angry dairy cow while the grizzled old man watches apathetically and he breaks into a fit of giggles. Yuzuru joins in, evidently also thoroughly amused by the possibilities of Boyang milking a cow. Boyang looks mildly affronted.

“Anyways,” Nathan says as he gets off the couch with some apparent difficulty, “I’m going to ‘bed.’” He air-quotes the last word, but his expression indicates it’s in jest (mostly). Kicking Boyang gently, he asks, “You coming with?”

“Right, alright, don’t kick me.” Shoma lets himself sag against Yuzuru as the other two tear themselves away from the fireplace’s glow and head towards the stairs down to the basement. Yuzuru does very little to impede his gradual loss of form.

“Good night,” he sing-songs as Nathan and Boyang descend. Nathan flashes a peace sign, and Boyang sing-songs right back. Then they’re gone, leaving Shoma and Yuzuru curled up on the couch together and the fire crackling quietly in front of them. There’s a faint sense of mortification in the back of Shoma’s head at this whole situation, but mostly there’s a deeply satisfied feeling in his bones, weighing him down until he simply can’t get up off the couch.

He dozes, for once glad to just relax, let go. Yuzuru’s breathing is slow and even next to him, the rise and fall of his chest just barely perceptible.

Into the quiet, Yuzuru murmurs, “You’re right, y’know. This is like a sleepover.”

“Kind of a lame one with it just being the two of us,” Shoma mutters. Yuzuru exhales a laugh.

“Maybe, but do you really want to sleep in the same room as Nathan and Boyang?” Shoma considers it, then shakes his head adamantly. “Exactly.” Yuzuru’s hand finds its way into the short hairs at Shoma’s nape, playing with them absentmindedly. “I like when it’s just us, anyways.”

Shoma feels heat rising in his cheeks at the words. “I don’t know,” he says, mostly in an effort to deflect this particular strand of conversation for reasons he’s not quite sure about. “It kind of reminds me of our old sleepovers.”

Yuzuru’s hand stills, and Shoma realizes too late what sort of memories mentioning the “old” times brings on. “With the others,” Yuzuru says, voice barely a whisper.

Shoma cringes. An idiot. He’s an idiot. “With the others,” he repeats dumbly. And he hates this, hates this feeling, and he hates himself in this moment for being the cause of it. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Yuzuru says. It comes out sounding a little choked. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Yuzuru insists, his voice strained. “Please, Shoma. Let’s just- let’s go to sleep.”

The smile Yuzuru gives him - weak and wavering at the corners - does nothing to soothe the fizzing numbness in Shoma’s bones, but he nods anyways and gets up. “I’ll set up on the floor, you take the couch.”

“What- no, Shoma, here,” Yuzuru protests, starting to stand up. Shoma stops him with a firm hand on his sternum.

“You slept on the floor yesterday. Just take the couch.”

Yuzuru looks like he wants to argue, but Shoma fixes him with that look he knows always gets him, a mix of stubbornness and puppy-dog eyes. Yuzuru’s face scrunches up a little before he concedes, collapsing back onto the sofa. Shoma drags out the sleeping bag from where it had been stashed in a corner, unrolls it and climbs in.

“Goodnight, Shoma,” Yuzuru says. He hangs his hand off the side of the couch so Shoma can take it. He does.

“Goodnight, Yuzuru.” Yuzuru’s fingers squeeze tight around his for a second, then he lets go and withdraws his hand. Shoma shuts his eyes, listens to the fire crackle, and waits for the warm wave of sleep to wash over him.  


 

“Wait here,” Yuzuru says. “I’m going to find Mai.” And then he is gone.  
  
By this time, Keiji‘s cries of agony have given way to soft, pained groans. Kaori keeps working on bandaging his wound with strips of her shirt, as if it will help anything. The adrenaline of fighting the horde draining away, Shoma’s eyelids suddenly feel impossibly heavy. He fights to keep his eyes open for just a few moments before he gives up. It feels like he barely shuts his eyes.

The next moment, Kaori is screaming. Shoma’s eyes snap back open.

Kaori is screaming, and sobbing, and Keiji has his teeth sunken into her forearm, only it’s not Keiji, because Keiji would never hurt Kaori and Keiji’s face isn’t gray and his eyes aren’t empty and hollow, but this thing’s are.

Shoma can’t move—he can’t move and he doesn’t know why. “Yuzuru,” he tries to yell, but it’s weak and tinny in his ears. “Yuzuru,” he tries again.

“Shoma,” Kaori gasps. There’s tears streaming down her face as she tries to pry Keiji’s—not Keiji’s—jaws open and free her arm. “Shoma, help me, please-”

But he’s rooted to the floor, screaming silently at his body to move with no response, just staring at the blood welling from Kaori’s arm and the horrible, horrible emptiness of Keiji’s— _not Keiji’s_ —eyes. Yuzuru bursts in, then, frantic.

He barely pauses, scooping up the cleaver Keiji had left by the door, raising it up and bringing it down hard into _not Keiji's_ head. Its whole body jerks, but its jaws keep moving. Yuzuru pulls back for another blow, shouting as he buries it several inches deep into _not Keiji's_ skull. It goes limp. Kaori yanks her mangled arm away.

It’s only when Yuzuru stumbles back, hands fumbling on his blood-spattered shirt, that Shoma sees that he’s crying. His face is contorted in a sob and his cheeks are wet as his attention turns to Kaori.

“Don’t let me become a zombie,” she’s pleading. “I can’t- I don’t want to become a zombie, I can’t.”

Yuzuru crumples to the floor in front of her. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry, I should have been here, I shouldn’t have been out there in the hall leaving you all by yourselves, I’m so _sorry_.”

Kaori’s bite is already starting to ooze, blood viscous and dark. Yuzuru’s entire front is stained with it.

Shoma wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> also follow me [@yuzshos](https://twitter.com/yuzshos) where i just sort of. make noise i guess


End file.
